Heir of Angels
by florafleur
Summary: The Shadowhunters are rushed off their feet trying to identify the Owl-faced demon which has been attacking mundanes on the streets. Meanwhile, Jace and Clary face the ramifications of their secret. As Jace becomes more and more disconnected from himself, Clary's wish will grow heavier on her shoulders. Especially after she discovers that she's going to bring a child into the chaos
1. Nightmares

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 **Heir Of Angels**

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Chapter One: Nightmares

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Beneath the night, the city of Manhattan dazzled in all of its technicolor beauty, mirroring the blanket of glinting constellations above, and on the corner of Hester's Street, music filled up the Hunter's Moon.

The cozy bar was packed with a plethora of guests, Shadowhunter and Downworlder alike, all gathered in celebration; Valentine Morgenstern was gone, his defeat bringing with it newfound solace among the Downworld. Strings of bulb lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the establishment in a warm saffron glow–the Nephilim color of victory, and there was a peaceful ambiance all around as Vampires, Werewolves, Shadowhunters and Warlocks all clinked their champagne glasses together in triumph.

Observing everyone from his natural post at the bar, the celebrations roared around an exhausted Jace Herondale. To say he wasn't in a celebratory mood would not do the anxiety in his gut any justice. The events of the other night continued to plague his mind. Not to mention he was so bone-achingly tired that not even his stamina rune had proven to be particularly useful.

He had almost not bothered to show up tonight. But after Alec had practically cornered him with questions, Jace decided that he couldn't afford to arouse even a whiff of suspicion, not after he'd come so dangerously close to finding out the truth.

"For the last time, Alec. I didn't die," Jace had told him as he dragged his fingers through the tub of hair gel on his dresser. Alec had been standing by the door in Jace's room, arms folded and eyes burning with suspicion. "I came close to it, and maybe that's what you felt, but–"

"My Parabatai rune disappeared," he argued, pulling himself from against the wall. "You know perfectly well that the only way a Parabatai bond breaks like that is if the other's heart stops beating."

Jace sighed, working the gel into his hair. "I don't know what else to tell you. I have no idea why it happened, but as I said, Clary healed me somehow."

Alec cocked a doubtful eyebrow. "I understand that you guys have these special abilities, but I find it difficult to believe that they stretch as far as raising the dead. Not even lesser Angels have that power. Only Raziel was ever thought to..." He trailed off, the words dying on his lips as it suddenly dawned on him.

"Jace," he began, trepidatiously. "Please tell me she didn't use the wish."

Jace's hands paused in his hair. His eyes locked on his reflection as he brought them down. Biting back his panic, he turned away from the mirror and faced Alec. "No. It was all Clary," he lied.

Jace's pulse quickened as he began to piece together a believable explanation in his mind. "Valentine stabbed me with his dagger. The next thing I know, I'm waking up on the ground, Clary's hands are on my chest, right where the dagger had been. The pain I felt before I blacked out was gone. The cold too. It was as if...I don't know, like she was channeling the life back into me."

A momentary silence stretched out between them. Then, at last, Alec's scrutiny faltered. "She seriously has that ability?"

Jace gave him a meaningful look. "I wouldn't be standing in front of you right now if it hadn't been for her."

Finally, Alec nodded, flooding Jace with relief. Had he stuttered or messed up in any way, it would have put both Clary and Alec at risk. But Jace had a strong feeling his brother was just choosing to believe him over his own conclusion. For stupid was one thing Alec was not. He, like Jace, was all too aware of the implications of using Raziel's wish.

Though she didn't know it, Clary had broken the Accords. And as Head of the Institute, Alec would have a duty to report her to the Clave. Failing to do so would bring extreme repercussions.

And that, he could not allow.

His gaze swept over the clusters of people to land on a certain redhead. She was standing in the far corner chatting with Isabelle, their conversation concealed over the lively music playing from the Jukebox.

Jace had been keeping a close eye on Clary. Though the bruising on her cheek had been healed, iratzes couldn't do much as far as concussions went except take the edge off. He had suggested that she sit the party out and rest but she wouldn't hear any of it, stubborn as she was.

A smile graced his lips.

She laughed at something Izzy was telling her, an authentic Clary giggle that cut through the song and the surrounding chatter to find his ears. A sound that he hadn't heard in so long, not since he stole that bike from the seedy Vampire bar three years ago.

After everything they'd gone through to finally be together—the lies and the trauma, the mere thought of her being dragged off to the Gard made his chest feel painfully tight.

Knocking back the remaining beer in his glass, Jace tried to shove the notion out of his mind and was just about to order a second when he realized the tight feeling in his chest was more than just psychosomatic.

It was becoming more and more intense, building up gradually, like an invisible belt tightening around his ribs. Jace gasped, his panic climbing with the pain as it burned down his arms and clung to his legs, forcing him out of his stool.

He could barely hear the music now over the thrumming of his own pulse deafeningly loud in his ears. Breathing heavily, he made quickly for the door and stumbled out into the night.

Every muscle in his body was now going into spasm.

He fell back onto a nearby bench, fighting for breath. Then, his vision frosted over until the bright headlights of passing cars faded to black and the sounds of the concrete jungle fell to complete silence. He couldn't see nor hear, all Jace could do was endure in a body that was boiling blood and rigid muscles.

He slipped off the bench and onto his knees, screaming in agony.

Then, with all the suddenness of a recoiling rubber band, the pain vanished and Jace's senses returned to him all at once, as if they'd never even been taken away.

Trembling in the wake of the aftershocks, a strong sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

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* * *

There was a tidal rhythm to her grief.

Most of the time the waters were calm, lapping gently at the surface of her mind, subtle and tolerable enough to get her through the day. Other times, Clary need only walk past a street performer singing one of Jocelyn's favorite songs and it was enough to send those gentle waves crashing relentlessly over her, drowning her in grief.

Nothing, however, provoked those waves like the night.

By day she had work and training to keep her distracted, but as soon as she put her head to the pillow at the day's end, she was at the mercy of her mind. A mind that tormented her sleep with images of her mom lying dead and mutilated on the floor, her bright green eyes that were once so gentle and full of love, glazed over, unfocused.

This time around, though, as Clary tossed and turned, her chest heaving and eyes darting rapidly beneath her eyelids—it was Jace who haunted her nightmares. Jace, dying by that lake. The color in his cheeks draining as blood pulsed through the cracks of their intertwined fingers.

And she could do nothing.

Freeing his stele from his weapon's belt, Clary dragged up his soaked shirt and activated his iratze. She even tried a blood-replenishing rune on the blank skin above his navel.

It was no use. The rise and fall of his chest went abruptly still.

Clary shook her head vehemently as she brought her shaking hand to his cheek, smearing blood that was livid red against his gray complexion.

It was all she could smell, all she could taste.

With a retch, she jolted awake, the sheets twisted around her legs.

Before she could catch her breath, her stomach gave another lurch, forcing her upright. Clary threw a hand over her mouth and scrambled out of bed, stumbling in the dark toward the en-suite.

Silver witch-light lit the bathroom automatically, striking her in the eyes like a white-hot knife. She barely made it in time, dropping to her knees as the contents of her stomach hit the water in the toilet with an unpleasant splash.

She gagged again and again. Her stomach heaving until stars danced across her vision and there was nothing left to bring up.

Clary slumped back down onto the floor and pressed her back up against the cool wall.

 _He's fine. It's over_. _Jace is alive._

Clary waited until the nausea had fully ebbed before she got to her feet again. She went over to the vanity and tied her hair back, then dashed her face with a few palmfuls of icy water. After that, she attempted to brush away the coppery taste that somehow still lingered in her mouth.

By the time she trusted her stomach enough to leave the bathroom, it was gone 6:00 AM and she was already one step ahead of her phone's alarm.

Clary ran her stele over the iratze on her neck, sighing in relief as the throbbing in her head faded away. She had no idea how she ever endured headaches during her life as a mundane; Advil had nothing on iratzes.

Now all she needed was some breakfast to calm her grumbling stomach.

She dressed and covered up the dark circles under her eyes before wandering into the dimly-lit hallway, where the walls were lined with antique oil paintings.

As the elevator descended, her stomach dipped along with it, forcing her to cling to the handrail. The feeling subsided however, when the elevator stopped and the doors rolled open, revealing to her the quiet first floor of the New York Institute.

She heard him before she saw him, exerted grunts followed by the sound of punches. The sound reverberated along the hallway leading to the training room.

Beneath the glow of the hanging lanterns, he pounded at a punching bag. Sweat glistening against his skin and clinging to the strands of hair that fell across his forehead. Behind him, the sunbeams streaming through the arched window made his hair appear golden.

"Morning," Clary called out, her voice leaving an echo. Jace's head turned, and a smile tugged on his lips, leaving no trace of that previous perturbed expression.

He caught the swinging punching bag mid-swing. "Morning,"

"Are you okay?" She asked, ambling her way over.

"Fine, why?"

"You seem a little tense."

"Tense?" He shook his head. "Nah."

"And you disappeared from the party last night. Which is definitely not like you."

"I was just tired." Jace stole a cautious glance toward the training room entrance then looked back at her, lowering his voice. "Resurrection takes a lot out of a guy."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better," he told her. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How's your head?"

 _Here we go._

"I'm fine. My head's a lot better actually, it was starting to flare up toward the end of the night but I feel fine this morning."

He didn't look convinced. "You look a little pale."

Clary rolled her eyes. "I'm a redhead, Jace. I'm always pale."

"Paler than usual, I mean," he explained. "Seriously, you're competing with Simon right now." He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She pushed it hand gently away.

"I just need to eat something."

"Wanna grab some breakfast? The dining hall should be quiet at this time."

"Sure," she agreed, hoping some food might settle her churning stomach. Jace smiled in response and stepped forward to kiss her on the forehead.

Clary pulled back, pressing a finger to his chin. "You're all sweaty."

He paused, and a sheepish smirk stretched across his face. "Hey, I didn't hear you complaining the last time you saw me this sweaty."

Clary punched him in the arm, a blush staining her cheeks. "That may be true, but I can't say I'm digging the new uh...aroma you're giving off."

Jace turned his face toward his underarm and his grin disappeared. "Right. I'll uh, get right on that. Meet me in the dining hall?"

Clary gave a nod.

With a playful military salute, Jace swiveled on his heel, and as Clary watched him walk away, her smile melted off her lips. A strong fear had just hit her, a fear brought on by his mention of their night together several weeks ago. It caught her so off guard that she had to sit down on one of the benches. She retrieved her phone from her pocket, scrolling hastily through the many icons in search of the little calendar. Sure enough, her heart stuttered at the sight of the missed days.

She remembered to breathe, reminding herself that irregularity wasn't exactly a new thing. Especially when she was stressed, and these past few weeks had proven to be nothing but.

She dreaded to think of the alternative reason.

"You're still here." Clary startled, fumbling to switch off her phone. Jace walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "By the angel, Clary. Are you sure you're feeling okay? You really don't look well."

She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, stewing in her own paranoid thoughts. She figured it must have been quite a while because Jace seemed to have appeared just as quickly as he'd left, only this time in jeans and his second favorite leather jacket (he'd given his best one to a homeless guy) and though slightly damp, his undercut hair was now pristine.

She tried to smile, nodding as she got up from the bench. "I'm okay, I just zoned out a little," she told him. "Let's go."

She took off quickly in the direction of the dining room. Jace hung back a moment, watching her with suspicion before falling back into step with her.

Clary struggled to choke down her toast and keep her mind from wandering away from their conversation and onto that night—when the emotions had been running so mind-numbingly high that she couldn't recall whether or not she had taken her pill that following morning.

"So, are you looking forward to your rune ceremony? You'll finally be a fully-fledged Shadowhunter." Jace put to her, grinning.

She was just being paranoid, Clary decided. After all, she had been taking the contraceptive since she was sixteen—only then it was to alleviate her painful cycles. She had never missed a day. Ever.

"Clary?"

The sound of his voice calling her name with that mix of confusion and concern was enough to make her blink herself out of her stupor and remember what he was talking about. "Mm? Oh, right. The Rune Ceremony, yeah I can't wait."

Jace's mismatched eyes were soft with concern. "Maybe you should get some more rest."

"Can't. I'm on assignment with Izzy this morning, anyway." She brought her cup of coffee to her lips. "I'll be fine after this."

"You sure?"

She hummed in affirmation.

"Coffee is not a concussion cure, you know."

Clary shrugged. "I know, but it's the next best thing."

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 **Please remember to leave a review!**


	2. Consequences

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 **Heir Of Angels**

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Chapter Two: Consequences

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X.X.X.X

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"Ooh sounds like we've got a Vetis on our hands," said Isabelle, reading through the report on her phone as she and Clary boarded the subway. "Face-planting into the road, unexplained claw marks, and missing jewelry. Could be wrong though. What do you think?"

Clary looked back at her friend, tearing her gaze away from the baby who was smiling gummily at her from her mom's lap. They grabbed ahold of the pole in front of them as the subway rolled into motion. "Yeah, definitely sounds like a Vetis," Clary replied, absently.

They were lizard-like creatures. Scaly, black and elongated with only a mouth on its otherwise blank face. They liked to crawl into tight spaces and horde anything that has a shine to it. The good thing was that they were relatively dumb and easy to deal with, driven solely by their need to steal and store shiny things, from common junk to valuable jewelry, it was all the same to them.

"Hey, don't look so worried. You've dealt with the little jerks before, they're easy peasy." Isabelle assured her, acknowledging the tense look on the redhead's face.

"I'm not worried."

Isabelle narrowed her dark eyes at her. "Then what is it? Something with Jace?"

 _In a way._

"No, of course not. What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "You both seem a little distant today. Not to mention he just took off from the party last night. Did you get into a fight already? You've barely been back together five minutes."

"We haven't. Jace and I couldn't be in a more perfect place. It's just..."

"Just what?" Isabelle prompted, expectantly.

For a fleeting moment, Clary was tempted to tell Isabelle about the fear spinning around in her mind but thought the better of it. There was a time and a place to blurt out something like that. And just before a mission on a busy subway train was not it. Besides, what if she was getting herself all worked up over nothing? It was just three days and the morning's previous nausea had now subsided. Still, she made a mental note to buy a test as soon as she got the chance.

"Nothing. It's just one of those days."

"Are you sure? Because you can tell me anything, you know."

"Thanks, Iz," Clary told her, gratefully. "I'm sure."

Isabelle nodded, her attention turning to a screaming baby in the arms of an exhausted-looking woman. Isabelle bent to pick up the teddy bear she had just dropped and handed it back to the child's mom who thanked her with a tired smile.

"Isn't she adorable?" Isabelle said to Clary, smiling at the little girl in awe. "I remember when Max was that small...and loud."

Clary glanced briefly at the crying baby, feeling grateful that they were almost at their destination.

"How is Max? I heard he went back to the Academy," she asked, eager to divert the conversation.

"Yeah, he's doing okay actually. He's convinced that he's completely healed but he's still not a hundred percent. I know Mom had a hard time letting him go back but I think he was starting to miss his friends. He wrote to us last week though and apparently, all his classmates want to hear about his encounter with, well, you know. He said he doesn't mind the new attention but wishes it didn't cut into the free-time he usually spends reading his comic books."

Clary smiled. "Of course he does."

Max had been through a rocky recovery. After sustaining what the Medics back in Idris classed as a grade three concussion he'd had a hard time getting back on his feet in the wake of nosebleeds and migraines.

When Isabelle had told her, it had been yet another blow to Clary's guilty conscience. A part of her resented Jonathan. And part of her couldn't help but feel sad for the person who could have been had Valentine not corrupted him before his life had even begun.

Together they'd destroyed lives in a seemingly endless cycle, evading justice for so long. But after three long years, that cycle was finally broken; and it was time for Clary to accept that she couldn't undo the damage her father and brother had caused, as difficult as it was.

Several stops later, the subway rolled into Penn Station and a mischievous grin stretched across Isabelle's matte-red lips as the doors slid open. "That's us. Time to kick some Vetis ass...and maybe get a bracelet or two out of it."

Clary and Isabelle swiftly activated their glamor runes as they turned the corner, baffling a businessman who, upon reaching the corner himself found that the two girls had vanished. The confused man blinked in puzzlement then glanced back at the crowd of approaching commuters to see if anybody else saw it. Nobody had. He looked down accusingly at his cup of coffee before tossing it in a nearby trashcan.

Invisible, the girls climbed the stairs leading up onto 34th Street, and naturally, the mundanes around them steered obliviously clear of the two Shadowhunters as the repelling effect of the glamor took effect.

"It's probably nesting in a storm drain," predicted Isabelle. "They do love their storm drains...and sewers. God, I hope it's not a sewer."

Clary grimaced. "You and me both."

Fortunately, the tracker on Isabelle's phone led them straight to a storm drain. They stopped at the cornered off section of the road and Clary drew an audible rune on the back of her hand, keeping her eyes trained on the gap where the demons dwelled. She concentrated hard, and soon enough, the hubbub of the city muted until the only sounds she could hear were coming from the storm drain. High pitched noises, similar to squealing piglets except a lot more unpleasant, attacked her ears. Wincing in discomfort, Clary quickly deactivated the rune on and the welcomed sounds of the city returned to her.

"From what I could gather, there's at least three down there."

"Okay," began Izzy as she studied the narrow slit in the edge of the sidewalk and uncurled her whip from around her wrist. "I'm throwing the Witchlight in, on three."

In response, Clary slid her seraph blade from her belt and twisted it around her fingers, feeling the pulsing thrum of the Adamas.

"Ready?" asked Isabelle, receiving an affirmative nod from her partner. The Witchlight stone glowed through the cracks of her fingers.

"One, two, _three_."

Isabelle tossed it into the drain, and like a bucket of water hitting hot coals, the Vetis demons hissed shrilly. One by one, they squeezed frantically through the gap. Gnashing their rows of razor-sharp teeth and scuttling straight toward them. One leaped at Clary, but it lost its head before it could attack in a single swipe of her blade and both ends of the demon hit the ground with a wet slap, before burning up and vaporizing.

"Clary, on your six!" Isabelle exclaimed as she wrestled with a screeching Vetis on the end of her whip, she stomped on its back, holding it in place. And in the flicking motion of her wrist, the whip became a spear; she drove it forcefully through its neck.

Clary spun around just as the third began to scuttle right for her, bringing down her sword with a grunt. It dodged the blow and skidded away from the blade on its eel-like legs. She swore and brought the seraph down again, sloppily this time in her panic. She missed once again, but before it could lunge, Isabelle, was there. Impaling it through the wings with the end of her spear. The demon gave a piercing shriek, writhing on the sharp point before going limp and vanishing.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, Isabelle gave another flick of her wrist, transforming the spear back into her whip.

The girls relished in the absence of the demonic screeching, and, sighing in accomplishment, Isabelle flicked the tar-like ichor off her spear before asking Clary, as if they were chatting over lunch, "So I was wondering, I still need to pick out a dress for your rune ceremony tomorrow? I was thinking we could go look at some if you're down?"

Clary hadn't heard her.

After three years of slaying demons, Clary considered herself accustomed to the unpleasant smell of ichor. Except now her experience seemed to have gone straight out the window. It was as strong as the night she first smelled it; pungent and suffocating. It sent a monstrous wave of nausea over her and the seraph blade in her hand went clattering to the ground.

She fled, desperate to get away from the stench.

"Clary!" Isabelle called out in surprise, curling her whip around her arm. She bent to pick up Clary's discarded weapon and rushed after her, frowning when she found her slumped over a trashcan. Arriving at her side, Isabelle wasted no time pulling the curtain of loose red curls away from Clary's face.

"Are you okay?" Asked Isabelle as Clary moved away from the trash with a shiver.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Must've been last night's champagne coming back to haunt me," she lied, hiding her embarrassment.

Isabelle handed the seraph blade back to her and the redhead held her breath so as not to get another whiff of the substance. "Thanks," she told her, breathlessly, quickly sliding it back into the sheath at her hip.

"In that case, we'd better get you home. I'll make you one of my special smoothies, it'll cure your lightweight-itis in no time."

Clary ignored her friend's light teasing and checked the time on her phone, though only for the purpose of illusion. "You know what? I just remembered, I uh, told Luke I'd meet up with him at nine."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You just spilled your guts in a dirty trashcan."

"I know, but I feel a lot better now. See you later, Iz!"

The smile vanished from her lips as she turned and walked off in search of the nearest drugstore, leaving Isabelle staring after her, thrown.

This was going to drive her crazy. She had to know, and she had to know now.

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* * *

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Jace was sure he was losing his mind.

He was working in the library, buried in all the mission reports he'd fallen behind on when he saw the intruder. His head snapped up instinctively from the laptop and his eyes landed on the stranger who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He was leaning nonchalantly against one of the bookshelves, arms folded tightly across his chest, his smile curving like a scythe.

Jace jumped from his seat, his indrawn breath as sharp as the blade he tore from his belt.

Somehow, his face was eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite work out where he knew it from. He was tall, with hollow cheeks and low eyebrows. Jace wasn't sure what it was about the guy that unnerved him more, the fact that he had just appeared out of nowhere—or that somehow, despite never laying eyes on this man in his life, he recognized him.

"Who are you?" Jace demanded, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny while his mind groped for a rational explanation. "How did you get in here?"

The stranger's tone was venomous. "Oh, don't worry about how I got in. Worry about how you're gonna get me out." He moved away from the book-shelf and approached the table, leaning against the polished mahogany on his knuckles, his eyes boring into him. Jace tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword.

"You'll pay for everything, Herondale. Believe me. Your world will _burn_."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jace asked, unsettled.

But in the blink of an eye, the auburn-haired stranger was gone. Jace reeled, plopping back down into his seat and running his hands across his face.

He couldn't get his head around it. He hadn't used a portal, he'd just appeared out of thin air, and disappeared just as quickly.

 _That's because he was never even there in the first place._ Jace realized, aghast.

Jace braced his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands as he struggled to comprehend what had just occurred. He couldn't help but think back to what he'd told Clary by the lakeside. That bringing someone back from death always came with a price.

Was this _his_ price? To slowly slip into insanity? Was this hallucination connected to the pain that had gripped him at Hunter's Moon?

Cold dread washed over him.

There was a knock at the door. Jace startled. Springing up from the chair once again and pulling his seraph blade from his belt.

Alec entered the room, throwing his hands up when he saw his brother braced for an attack.

"Woah, what are you doing?"

Jace apologized, letting down his paranoid guard at once. He returned his seraph blade to his belt.

Alec studied him, alarmed. "Are we just going to ignore the fact that you were about to ram your sword through my chest?"

"I wasn't about to—" Jace sighed. "I thought I saw something through the window."

"You did?" He questioned, concerned.

"It was nothing, just my eyes playing tricks on me. What did you want me for?"

Alec regarded him suspiciously but didn't press. "One of the weapon compartments in the training room is jammed again. I'd deal with it myself but I need to be in a meeting in half an hour."

"Right, yeah sure, I'll fix it," Jace told him, brushing past his brother's shoulder to leave the room. Alec had not missed his strange demeanor, but he said nothing. Only observed him in silent concern as Jace strode down the hall.

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* * *

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Clary paced the length of her room with all the anxiousness of a caged panther.

She never thought she would ever be in this position. After all, being protected was not something she took lightly. The constant lectures she had gotten from her mom over the years had seen to that. But lately, her head had been all over the place what with chasing after fugitives from dawn to dusk. She had been so focused on the hunt that the small yet extremely important pills sitting at the back of her drawer had completely slipped her mind.

She cursed herself for it. How the hell was she able to remember the intricacy of every rune in the codex and more, but not how to swallow a damned pill?

If she wasn't so terrified, she might have laughed.

Clary's eyes flitted over to the digital clock on her nightstand.

 _One minute to go..._

It'd been the night Jonathan died. She had been healing the last of Jace's cuts in the infirmary when she'd broken down. The fresh pain of losing her mother had mingled with the dreaded thought of what could have happened on that bridge had they not reached Jace in time. If they'd have been one second later.

Jace had wiped away her tears, numbed the pain with his lips. It had been enough to liberate all the feelings she had kept under lock and key for _so long_ as she returned the kiss, eagerly.

The next thing she knew, they were stumbling into the elevator. Jace had slammed her against the mirror, hard but not too hard, kissing her with a newfound urgency, as if they were making up for all the time they'd lost believing Valentine's cruel lies.

They'd burst into his room, and his hands had slid to her thighs, effortlessly hoisting her up, only ever tearing his lips away from hers to drop her onto the mattress.

"Where are you going?" She'd asked breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows and craning her neck, but she soon realized what he was doing not a moment later as he ran his stele across the door, working a silencing rune into the wood. He then crossed back over to the bed, his eyes aglitter with a want that made her heart stutter like a stone across water.

He tossed his stele aside and it landed on the floor with a clatter.

"I think you broke it," she'd told him, her chest heaving as he braced his hands either side of her head. She wrapped a leg over his hip, increasing the friction.

"Izzy'll fix it," he rushed out, his breathy words hot against her neck as his lips brushed feather-light across her iratze. Clary sighed, arching her back as her hand came to tangle in his hair.

 _Splat._

Clary swore, dragged from her thoughts by a tube of black oil paint bursting beneath her shoe. She pulled off her boot and snatched up a rag from the ledge of her easel. Kneeling, she blotted at the stain but it was of no use. She would have to get some white vinegar on it. That was, of course– if she wasn't about to have a much bigger problem to worry about.

She checked back at the clock, her arm pausing its movements; the two minutes were up.

The stain on the rug was soon abandoned as she got to her feet, making a conscious effort to breathe as she looked over at the dresser where she'd placed the test. She approached it like she would a Greater Demon, slowly and shaking with the adrenaline rush.

 _Now or never,_ Clary thought to herself before forcing herself to look down.

Her heart sank.


	3. Mark of the Angel

**.**

 **Heir Of Angels**

~.~

Chapter Three: Mark Of The Angel

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X.X.X.X

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* * *

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Clary snatched up the test's packaging, her anxious eyes flitting across the small print.

It had to be a false positive. That was a thing, right?

 _Wrong._

Her glimmer of hope was snuffed out instantly at the words ' _99.9% accuracy.'_

Her initial instinct was to call Jocelyn—a fleeting impulse that crept up on her whenever she was faced with a dilemma. Except now it was stronger than ever.

Clary definitely wasn't ready to be a mother. She was still trying to navigate her way around the Shadow World. The thought of being plunged into yet another world, the world of _motherhood,_ so soon terrified her.

Blinking back tears, Clary bit down anxiously on her thumb. She knew she ought to tell Jace, but the idea of it filled her with dread. What if he didn't want to be a father? Or worse yet, what if he _did?_

She was unsure which reaction was worse.

Clary moved to stand in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection for a while. Then, tentatively, she lifted the hem of her shirt and placed a cold hand against her rune scattered belly.

A rush of emotions surged through her.

First came the climbing ascent, fascination: _There is a little life in here right now, half-me and half-Jace._

Soon after that came wonder. _What would that even look like?_

But a sheer drop destroyed all sentiment as she pictured herself growing to the size of a watermelon. Could her petite body even find the room for a baby?

She yanked her shirt down.

The one thing she did know was that she had to get rid of this test. Throwing it in the trash was out of the question, so she tore the box into tiny, indecipherable pieces before sprinkling them on the coals to be burned later. Then she stuffed the test in an old pencil case, shoving it to the back of her wardrobe where it would stay.

 _Out of sight, out of mind._

 _If only that were true._

It was all she could think about for the next week leading up to the rune ceremony. An event she'd formerly been looking forward to, but now dreaded. She checked herself in the mirror every morning before missions, looking for the slightest change. Fortunately, there were none, bar the increasing nausea. And when the day of her rune ceremony arrived, she could rest assured that the majority of Alicante wouldn't notice anything.

When the morning of the ceremony arrived, Clary hurried down to the drawing-room in her ivory halter-neck dress. Returning late from patrol last night had been a bad idea. She hadn't felt like getting out of bed this morning, let alone attending a ceremony. Still, she forced herself to get up, feeling grateful to the power of make-up, which at least lent her the illusion of color in her cheeks.

She was too late for breakfast, not that she wanted to be even within three feet of the smell of cooking after her earlier vomiting session, so she grabbed herself a granola bar from one of the vending machines and devoured it on her way.

"There you are!" Exclaimed Isabelle as Clary entered the private room where the Lightwoods and Magnus were all gathered. Isabelle looked radiant in her dark purple maxi-dress. "We were starting to think you'd ditched your own rune ceremony."

Clary laughed like it hadn't been a thought to cross her mind when she'd been sitting with her head down the toilet.

"You look amazing, by the way," Isabelle commented, squeezing her arm.

"Thanks, Iz," Clary smiled, though 'amazing' was not an accurate description of how she felt.

"Morning, guys."

Clary turned to see Jace walking in, dressed in a formal gray suit, accented by a silver tie. His eyes swept her, an admiring smile on his lips. "You look beautiful."

He had that faraway look again, like his mind was somewhere else. She moved to stand beside him and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand.

"You don't look half bad yourself." She told him, waiting for a smug remark that never came. Instead, he gave her a distant smile.

"Everybody ready to go?' Asked Magnus.

"Yep. Thanks again, Magnus," Alec told his boyfriend.

The Warlock smiled affectionately at him before getting to work. Soon his flourishing hand motions had conjured a swirling portal. They stepped through in single file, with Clary at the rear. Just as she was about to step through, however, Magnus put his hand out.

"Ah, Clary?"

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted you to know that if I was permitted to enter Idris, I would absolutely be there to celebrate with you," Magnus told her, sincerely. "I know Jocelyn would be immensely proud of you, biscuit. You've come a long way."

Clary's eyes softened, and she felt a pang of sadness. Some Downworlders were given special permission to attend events and council meetings. But after the alliance he'd made with the Seelie Queen, there was no chance of that. So instead, Magnus had offered to show his support by being the one to portal them to Alicante. Clary was grateful for it. She wouldn't have had the energy to do it herself.

She gave him a knowing smile. "Thank you, Magnus."

He motioned his head toward the portal opening. "Now, get gone. My arms are getting tired."

Clary chuckled lightly and the room around her bent and distorted as she let the portal carry her away.

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* * *

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During her previous visits to the country, Clary hadn't been able to fully appreciate the beauty of Idris. Now as she stood in the heart of Alicante, upon cobbled stones which paved the streets, she could finally do so. The capital city of Idris was breathtakingly beautiful with its elegant sandstone buildings and overall tranquil atmosphere. No doubt a stark contrast to noisy New York. There was not a vehicle in sight, and the only means of transportation was by your own two legs or a horse.

Alec flagged down a coachman, and they all piled onto the cushy seats. As the horse trotted through the city, Clary observed the town life with wonder, admiring the cute little coffee shops and book stores and the busy market where two old ladies were selling fruits and vegetables.

It was like stepping back in time.

One thing that struck her about the locals was the lack of gear they wore. Though most were clad in traditional Nephilim black, she didn't see many carrying weapons on their person.

"There's not really much need," Jace explained when she asked him about it. "Idris is one of the safest countries in the world when it comes to demon protection. The towers reinforce wards that keep them locked out."

In the distance, the aforementioned demon towers stretched up toward the russet sky, surrounding the city. Clary sheltered her eyes from the sun, taking in their beauty. They were constructed of pure Adamas, which would change various colors to warn the city of various situations, good or bad.

"Then how come there aren't demon towers in every country?" She asked.

"The bigger the country, the weaker the wards," Isabelle answered. "Not to mention, Adamas doesn't come cheap."

Clary smiled, observing the little differences with admiration. People stood chatting in the quiet street, something you just couldn't do in New York without getting shoved or verbally abused. Neither would you see tiny children playing unaccompanied.

One of the kids spotted their carriage going by and pointed, dropping her skipping rope and tapping her friend on the shoulder. The next thing Clary knew, her name was being yelled, and they were being chased along the street.

"Looks like you've got yourself some admirers," said Isabelle, nudging Clary's arm.

The children yelled over the top of one another, each one vying for the loudest voice as they plied her with compliments and questions that Clary wasn't given time to answer before the next one was hurled at her. The children ran alongside the carriage.

"What did the angel Raziel look like, miss?"

"Yeah, is he really ten-feet tall?"

Clary tried to answer as many questions as she could, conversing with them amiably until their little legs grew tired.

"That was weird," said Clary as the carriage left the children behind. "Cute, but weird."

"It's about to get weirder," said Alec. "Look."

Clary deadpanned.

A crowd was starting to accumulate. People were spilling out of their quaint stone-built houses to get a good look at them, cheering and waving. And while Clary reluctantly waved back, not wanting to appear rude. Izzy fixed her posture and flipped her hair, waving like a regal princess.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Iz?"

"Very much so." She confirmed, through a fixed grin.

Jace laughed musically.

"What is happening?" Clary asked in bafflement.

"Looks like they've made us celebrities now," Jace observed. He held his hand up in more of a masculine kind of way. Alec looked between his basking siblings, shaking his head.

"Great," Clary remarked, completely overwhelmed.

The crowds seemed to go on and on, lining the streets all the way to the gates of the Accords Hall, the only thing that could distract Clary from them was the beauty of the famous Accords Hall, where all important Clave meetings and events took place.

It was beautiful.

Saffron tapestries decorated the stunning pillared building not dissimilar to that of a vast Greek villa. In the grounds, topiaries cut into angelic runes surrounded a fountain depicting what she assumed to be the angel Raziel rising from the lake. He hadn't resembled anything like that when he'd appeared to her that fateful night. He had been so blindingly bright that she could barely see him at all.

Jace offered Clary a hand down from the carriage and Alec offered the same to Isabelle, but she pushed his hand away and jumped down unaided. Mounted Guards in white and gold uniforms were keeping the crowds contained behind the barriers–Yes, they'd actually put up _barriers,_ while twostanding guards opened the large gates.

The crowd cheered as they made their way along the path and into the immense grounds with Alec and Isabelle at the rear. Jace and Isabelle marveled at the attention. While, in contrast, Clary and Alec couldn't wait to get inside.

The guests were still yet to arrive but Imogen was there to greet them. She met them in the foyer, a spacious area with a grand staircase and white marble throughout. "Welcome to the Accords Hall," she smiled. Then she ushered them into a room with a large polished mahogany table, ornate chairs and standing in each corner were statues of angels in various different poses.

"Thanks again Imogen for organizing this. It's really thoughtful," said Clary as they all took seats around the table. "But I had no idea that so many people would be interested."

"Why wouldn't they be interested? Countless families in Idris have suffered in the name of Valentine Morgenstern as well as the Circle, and you brought them closure. You deserve a great rune ceremony, Miss Fairchild," replied Imogen, graciously before placing her attention on the group as a whole. "We've still got an hour before the bells chime so can I get you some refreshment in the meantime?" She offered. Before anybody could answer, however, Imogen had already decided for them. "I'll bring some in anyway, and you can take what you like."

As she left them at the table, Isabelle said, "you know, I've never seen her act so cheery in my life... it's unsettling."

Alec agreed, "ever since it came out that Jace is her grandson, it's like she's grown a new personality."

"It's funny how, out of the three of us, Imogen complained about you the most. You were always handling weapons in a 'dangerous manner' or 'running about the place like a wild animal'. Now she thinks butter-wouldn't-melt in your mouth. You've transformed her," said Isabelle.

Jace sat back comfortably in his chair and folded his arms across his chest "It's great that she's happier now, and I was wrong to pass judgment on her."

When Imogen returned a few moments later, she was carrying a silver tray and a matching antique teapot, along with a selection of different cookies. "Here are some biscottis I picked up in Italy during my visit to the Rome Institute. Honey and almond, chocolate and hazelnut, and gingerbread."

The Inquisitor placed the refreshments down in the center of the table. "I'll be right back, I'm just going to grab some teacups for the tea."

At the sight of the biscotti selection, Clary's mouth began to flood. She loved biscottis. Her eyes practically rolled back into her head as she bit into it. "Oh, these are so good."

Jace chuckled and took one for himself. Clary finished hers in record time and immediately reached for a second.

The three siblings exchanged side-glances.

"What?" She asked them, her voice muffled.

"Slow down," Jace told her. "You'll choke."

"I can't help it, they're delicious."

Imogen picked up on this as she re-entered the room and said, "make sure to leave some room for the afterparty." She set china teacups down in front of the four Shadowhunters and beginning with Jace, started pouring the tea.

Clary swallowed. "Afterparty?"

"Of course," affirmed Imogen. "There's going to be a buffet and a magnificent ice sculpture."

"Oh, Imogen, thank you, but you didn't have to do all that."

"Nonsense, of course I did," she argued taking a seat at the end of the table and pouring herself a cup. "There's nobody more deserving of a great rune ceremony, than you, Clary. Not only did you defeat the monster who destroyed my family, but you also seem to make my grandson happy. That means your part of my family now too." She looked over to Jace, who smiled softly back at her.

They conversed for a little while longer, finishing their tea and biscottis. It wasn't long before the bells at the top of the hall tolled for ten o'clock, and as the guests flooded into the courtyard, Clary went over the vows in her head and tried to calm her nerves.

On the top tier of the hall, at the end of a red velvet carpet which stretched out into the pillared courtyard, Imogen and Brother Jeremiah stood before the cluster of guests, most of them were acquaintances of the Lightwoods and members of the Clave. Clary listened from inside the hall as Imogen began to speak.

"Brothers and sisters," she began, and their chatter died down to silence. "I welcome you all on this sacred day to witness the confirmation of Clarissa Adele Fairchild into our ranks as a certified soldier. Miss Fairchild, if you would like to come forward."

She ambled along the carpet, holding her chin up despite the discomfort of so many eyes on her. When she reached Imogen and brother Jeremiah, Clary turned to face the guests.

 _Don't butcher this up._ She thought, inwardly.

"I stand before my fellow Shadowhunters, to receive the rune of the angel. I take this mark to honor him, to bring his light into me. To join the ranks of the Shadowhunters, the guardians of peace." She announced, relieved for the most daunting part to be over, and that she hadn't stumbled over her words.

She offered out her wrist to brother Jeremiah and the familiar burning sensation prickled against her skin. When the Silent Brother withdrew the stele, her long-awaited angelic rune decorated the previously blank skin, the rune that marked her as a Shadowhunter. It symbolized two years of literal blood sweat and tears and the countless times she had slipped, tripped, and had her ass _kicked._

A sense of fulfillment rushed through her.

"This mark of angelic power is well deserved, and long overdue," said Imogen. "You are no longer a Shadowhunter in training. Valentine Morgenstern may have used the Mortal Instruments to raise the angel Raziel, but you prevented a wish from being granted, a wish that may have had catastrophic consequences. Clarissa Fairchild, may your heroism be a shining example to Shadowhunters across the world. Congratulations."

Applause filled the courtyard and Clary smiled in timid accomplishment. Her eyes finding Jace in the crowd. He winked at her as he clapped, his smile as warm as the newly-risen sun.

As of now, she was a fully recognized Shadowhunter.

* * *

 **.**

 **Please leave a review**


	4. To Love Is to Protect

.

 **Heir Of Angels**

~.~

Chapter Four: To Love is To Protect

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X.X.X.X

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* * *

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Jace's hand closed around the Herondale ring at his throat.

Unlike the dead at the Cemetery of the Fallen or those that rested down in the City of Bones, Stephen and Céline's graves bore no birth dates, death dates, or honoring quotes; they were just two askew headstones displaying only their names. But Jace supposed they could be in much worse condition if the neglected headstones around him were anything to judge by.

Eroded by the elements and the harshness of time—these were the final resting places of circle members whose families were either dead and buried with them, or alive and too ashamed of their crimes to care about the condition of their headstones; Jace had Imogen to thank for taking such good care of Stephen and Céline over the years.

Among the overgrown foliage, Jace spied Michael Wayland's name. The man he'd spent his whole life believing to be his father, whose face he could see with such clarity looking down at him in surprise as a seven-year-old Jace— beaming with achievement—held up his pet falcon, which was perched on his gloved hand, its head bobbing jerkily.

"Dad, I trained Goldie! He came back to me!" Jace beamed.

In his excitement, Jace had forgotten that his father didn't like to be disturbed while he was working. Fortunately, he hadn't scolded him. Michael looked up from his desk and pushing his reading glasses up onto his head. He held up his arm to receive the bird, looking at Jace expectantly.

"Prove it."

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he walked to the other side of the study and tried to encourage the bird by nudging his arm upwards. The Falcon flapped his wings to steady himself, but no amount of gentle persuasion could convince him to go anywhere near the man.

" _Please_ , Goldie," Jace had begged, growing more and more unnerved the longer he protested. "Fly to dad, just like you did to me."

Goldie stayed put.

Jace still remembered the spark of rage that'd erupted in Michael's eyes. The shrill sound his chair had made as it scraped roughly back against the hardwood floor. Michael stormed over to him and ripped the screeching falcon off Jace's glove. Goldie writhed in his grip, squawking in protest.

"No!"

Michael twisted and the squeaking stopped abruptly. Goldie dropped onto the floor with a thud.

Jace stared, horrified.

"My instruction was to make it obedient, was it not?!" Michael had exploded. "You taught the thing to love you!"

He knelt to Jace's level and took his shocked little face in his hands. From the outside looking in, he might have looked like a caring father comforting his upset son. "Soldiers don't cry," he reminded him. "You've just learned a very valuable lesson, son. Know what that is?"

Jace shook his head, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. He didn't want what happened to Goldie to happen to him.

"To love is to destroy," he said, bitterly. "And to _be_ loved is to be the one destroyed. Understand?"

Jace nodded vigorously.

"Good." Michael released his lips and rose to his feet. "I hope you're faster at digging than you are at learning. It'll get dark out soon, and I won't be letting you back inside until that bird is buried."

Jace shivered at the memory.

He had never actually met the _real_ Michael Wayland, Valentine had murdered him and then robbed him of his identity. Jace was sure that the true Micheal was never as heartless as Valentine. Out of respect, Jace pulled away some of the ivy around Michael's headstone, tidying it up the best he could. That done, he turned back to his real parents.

Stephen had been killed during a raid, and Céline died not long after being given the news, committing suicide with Jace still inside her womb.

Jace knew she must have been heartbroken to make such a drastic choice. However, his father's murder may not have been the only thing to drove her to end her life. Céline had also suffered from a mental illness that caused delusions and hallucinations.

It was now a fact that haunted him, prompting him to wonder if what he had seen in the Institute's library was the beginning of his mother's illness. He had never experienced issues with his own mental health in the past, but what if being brought back to life had set it off? His brain _had_ , after all, been re-started. Perhaps, in the process, it had activated something that had previously lain dormant?

He tried to reassure himself that even if it was the case, and there were treatments he could pursue to manage it. And it was better than the alternative explanation; that it was some kind of side-effect that was linked to the wish, dooming him to the slow onset of insanity.

"Hey."

Jace briefly turned to see Clary approaching him—holding up the skirt of her dress to avoid tripping on the overgrowth.

The muscles in his jaw stopped tensing, as she pulled him from his thoughts. "Does it make me a bad person?" He asked, without looking away from the graves.

Clary blinked, thrown. "Does what make you a bad person?"

"They were my parents. But I don't feel anything for them, I just feel numb when I look at their graves..."

"Feeling numb is an emotion. It doesn't mean you care any less," she reassured him, linking her arm up with his. "I know it's a different circumstance but if its any consolation, I felt numb too after I lost my mom...Besides, they died before you were born, and then you were raised to believe you were someone else. It's only natural. But you care. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Jace gave her an affirmed nod, his smile a brief glimmer.

A shrill chirp sounded nearby and Clary followed it to a tree, where a colorful finch hopped from branch to branch. She watched it for a moment as she mulled over telling him. Then she decided that if she could get him to open up to her, it would make it easier for her to do the same.

"Jace?"

"Yeah."

"You trust me, right?"

Jace looked at her meaningfully and took her hand. "Absolutely."

"Then you'd tell me if something was bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me."

She gave him a pressing look until at last, he relented. "Fine, you win. How could you tell?"

"You were the one who taught me, remember? Pay attention to the details."

But Jace didn't share her reminiscent smile. He looked perturbed. "I saw something."

Clary stared, nonplussed. "What?"

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for how crazy he was about to sound. "I saw something in the library yesterday. But it wasn't actually there. I was hallucinating."

Clary breathed out heavily, her expression grave. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I just did."

"I meant _sooner_." She met his eyes suddenly, growing pale. "...You don't think it has anything to do with the wish I made?"

He couldn't bring himself to say yes, but he couldn't say no either. Instead, he shrugged.

"Jace, you need to tell someone about this. About everything. A Warlock...or, or a Silent Brother."

"No, I already told you." He looked at her, his gaze steady and serious. "We can't tell _a soul_ about the wish."

Clary's eyebrows knitted together. "But why not?"

"Compelling a wish from the Angel can only happen _once_." He explained. "If the Clave ever found out what happened, they'd lock you in the Gard for the rest of your life. Or worse."

That same Stubbornness that Jace usually found endearing flashed across her features, only this time it struck him with nothing but unease. "But what if whatever you're going through gets worse? You can't just ignore it, _please-"_

"I said _no_ , Clary!"

It wasn't exactly a snap, but it was enough to make her flinch. Jace glanced cautiously around and though he lowered his voice, the sharpness in his tone remained.

"When I say they would lock you up for the rest of your life, I mean it. They could even give you a death sentence. Alec too if they found out he was withholding information. Do you have any idea what losing either of you would do to me? That wish would have been granted in vain then."

Her heart tightened at the last part. "Jace..."

"We really can't risk _anyone_ finding out. I'm serious Clary. It's better for everyone if we just pretend it never happened."

His head felt clearer now that he was in Idris. Maybe these weird symptoms were not permanent and he just needed a break from New York, a change of scenery.

Clary relented. Nodding in silent agreement as she leaned toward him. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "We should get head back to the party."

How was she supposed to tell him she was pregnant now? He already had enough to deal with without this bombshell being dropped on him too.

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* * *

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"Jace!" Max exclaimed the moment he caught sight of his brother. He sprinted across the hall.

"Hey Max," Jace grinned, releasing Clary's hand to ruffle his little brother's hair. "I didn't know you were coming. I thought you were at the Academy?"

"I get weekends off, _duh_ ," he explained, quickly, smoothing his hair back down. "You guys have _got_ to try the chocolate fountain, it's _huge_!" He took both their hands and led them over to the large buffet table where a sizeable fountain spilling over with sheets of molten chocolate stood, at least five feet tall. The ice sculpture Imogen had mentioned was displayed on a podium in the middle of the hall, a giant icy angelic rune, apparently charmed by a Warlock to keep it frozen all day.

Max and Jace helped themselves to the rainbow of fruit, smothering them in the flowing chocolate, while Clary was swept up in conversation with the guests, most of whom she'd never met before. One of them being an Asian lady in a red maxi dress, her friendly smile was a huge contrast to the expression of the girl who followed at her heels. Clary assumed that she was her daughter, judging by their shared resemblance.

"Aline! I haven't seen you for months, I've missed you!" Isabelle called out from behind, and Clary turned to see them colliding into a hug.

"I've missed you too," said Aline, squeezing her tight.

When they broke away Izzy nodded courteously at Consul Penhallow, her smile fading. "Consul Penhallow."

"Hello Isabelle," she greeted, then shifted her gaze to Clary. "Miss Fairchild, I don't believe we've been acquainted before. I'm the Consul, Jia Penhallow. And this is Aline, my daughter."

It finally clicked in her head. The Penhallows and the Verlac's have a family connection—Aline was Sebastian's cousin.

"It's great to meet you both," Clary replied, despite her foreboding.

"Likewise," Jia replied. "You know, your mother and I were once good friends. When I heard what happened to her, I was devastated," she looked to Isabelle. "And for Alexander too, I can't imagine how he must have felt."

"He felt terrible," Isabelle answered. "It really crushed him."

"I'm sure," said Jia.

"It's just horrible, isn't it? Losing someone close to you," Aline piped up, eyes trained on Clary and her words dripping with scorn. "Especially when that said someone was tied up for months, tortured and then _murdered_."

" _Aline_." Warned Jia.

As a Shadowhunter, you learned to de-sensitise yourself to scenes of death and gore, but the image of the blackened, tormented body of Sebastian Verlac was burned into Clary's memory. Now it came back to her, vivid and painful as ever—and her guilt rendered her speechless.

Fortunately, Isabelle swooped in to defend her. " _Hey_ , I don't know what you're insinuating, but what Jonathan did to Sebastian had nothing to do with Clary."

Clary swallowed the lump in her throat, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. "Sorry, could you excuse me? I...I need some air," she dismissed herself, turning on her heel and making a beeline for the exit.

She slipped out of the hall and into a large, corridor. When the door shut behind her, the silence was music to ears and Clary collapsed down onto a nearby chaise longue, placing her head in her hands, and focusing on her breathing.

The door opened and Clary abruptly straightened but was relieved to see Isabelle. She joined her in the quiet hallway. Their only company, the marble statues which were built into niches along the walls.

"Don't let her get to you, Clary. Aline is just grieving and looking for someone to blame," she told her, sitting down beside her friend, her glass of champagne resting in her hand.

"It's not just that. It's–" Clary cut herself short, lowering her gaze.

Isabelle's neatly-waxed eyebrows bumped together in concern. She reached for Clary's hand and squeezed, reassuringly.

"What is it?" she encouraged, gently. "You can trust me."

Clary hesitated a moment before relenting. She didn't have the strength to carry two heavy secrets at once. Her voice was strained and barely even audible but finally, she managed to utter the words that had gotten stuck in her throat.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever as Isabelle stared at her, trying to decide whether or not she'd misheard. But there were not many words in the English language that rhymed with 'pregnant'.

Isabelle blinked. "Did you just say you're...?"

Clary nodded, welling up. "I don't know what to do, Izzy."

And that was all the confirmation Isabelle needed. Her shocked expression didn't falter as she wrapped Clary up in a tight hug, whispering reassurances as she cried onto her shoulder.

* * *

 **Isabelle knows! :0**

 **Please leave a comment if you can, even if it's just short I guarantee that it'll make my day, and remember to vote ;)**

 **-florafleur**


	5. Enigma

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 **Heir Of Angels**

~.~

Chapter Five: Enigma

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X.X.X.X

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* * *

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Isabelle cast one last glance out into the deserted hallway and closed the door to the meeting-room, standing with her back pressed against it. Her eyes snapped to Clary, who had placed herself at the large mahogany meeting table, clutching her elbows nervously.

"I _knew_ something was going on with you!" Recollection flashed across her face. "When you puked in that trashcan, that wasn't a hangover..."

Clary shook her head, wiping away the remainder of her tears with her thumb. "I blamed it on the concussion. I never thought I was..."

Clary paused, blowing out a breath. She thought she'd be able to hold herself together. "It didn't click until I realized I was late."

A silence drifted over the girls until only the muffled sounds of the celebrations in the main hall could be heard. Isabelle sat down at the head of the table and the light streaming through the stained glass window caught the shimmer of the highlight on her cheekbone. "Sorry, It's just... a lot to process," she breathed. "I'm guessing Jace doesn't know?"

"No," she replied. "And I can't tell him."

Isabelle frowned. "Why not?"

Clary lowered her gaze. This secret was having such a knock-on effect. She couldn't even tell Isabelle _why_ she couldn't tell Jace.

"If it's his reaction you're afraid of, don't be," Isabelle tried to reassure her. "He _loves_ you, Clary."

"I'm just not ready yet," she explained. "I'm still trying to make sense of it myself."

 _And he doesn't need the added stress._

A weighted sigh escaped Isabelle. She looked uncertain, but after a moment, gave a nod. "It's your call. This is some pretty big news. But the longer you keep this to yourself, the harder it's going to be. I mean...no offense but you're tiny. I doubt it will be long before you start showing."

Clary winced.

At that Isabelle frowned, approaching her next question carefully. "How do you feel about it?"

Clary swallowed hard and gave a shrug. "Confused. Terrified. I've only just completed my training. I'm still working through the trauma of losing my mom. This is the last thing I want."

Isabelle nodded in understanding, though the look on her face was solemn.

Clary continued, "but at the same time, the idea of living the rest of my life wondering how it might have looked, who it might have become." She shook her head once, brief. "I don't know if I could cope with that either. Then there's the question of Jace's feelings. What if he doesn't feel the same way?

"Clary," Isabelle began, gently. "You can 'what if' yourself into oblivion. But you _know_ Jace. I can't think of a single scenario where he wouldn't stand by your side." She offered her a reassuring smile. "And if he doesn't, I will personally kick his ass for him. This is just as much his fault as it is yours."

Clary dropped her gaze, feeling guilty. "Actually, that's not entirely true."

Isabelle didn't follow. "What do you mean?"

"I was on birth control," Clary explained, clearly frustrated with herself. "But like an idiot, I must have missed a day. This is all on me."

Isabelle shook her head vehemently, leaning forward in her seat and trying to deliver all the comfort she could muster. "Considering everything, it's a completely justifiable mistake," she told her, trying to deliver all the comfort she could. "There's nothing you can do about it now. What's done is done, so what's the point in beating yourself up over it?"

As Isabelle's wisdom worked its magic, it didn't take long for Clary to decide that she was right–as usual. It happened. She had been careless. Now she just had to hope that when she did eventually tell Jace, he wouldn't be too upset.

"I can tell you one thing, though" Isabelle spoke up, sincerity forming in her eyes. "I'm here for you, whatever you decide to do."

Clary's heart clenched. She was so fortunate to have Isabelle as a friend. Whether it be for her expertise on winged eyeliner, slaying demons in heels, or in more difficult scenarios like this one, Izzy was her number one confidant. 

.

* * *

.

After Clary had regained her composure, Isabelle fixed her slightly smudged eye-makeup using the 'emergency supply' that she kept in her clutch.

That done, they slipped back into the venue.

Jace shifted his gaze beyond Patrick Greenlaw, and a wave of uncertainty washed over him as he studied the girls from across the hall, watching them converse with each other discreetly before paranoia got the better of him–they'd been gone for a suspicious amount of time.

He excused himself from the conversation and strode hastily over to Clary and Isabelle.

He tapped Clary gently on the arm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," she replied, frowning at his urgency as she followed him to a quiet corner of the hall. " _Please_ tell me you didn't just tell Isabelle?" He asked her, lowering his voice.

"What? _No._ She was checking up on me _," s_ he answered in half a whisper. "I felt a little lightheaded."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, she _had_ felt woozy and Isabelle _had_ followed her to make sure she was okay, but what Clary eventually confessed had nothing to do with the wish.

Jace accepted this, his gaze softening and his tense shoulders relaxing.

"I don't break my promises." She slid her hand into his, ignoring how clammy they were. "And frankly, I'm a little hurt that you thought I would. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you."

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I'll let you off the hook," she decided. "But first, I need you to promise _me_ something. Promise that you'll let me know if you have another one of those hallucinations," she told him.

"I promise."

"And," she added. "that you'll go see a silent brother about it if they get any worse."

At that proposition, however, Jace was reluctant to comply. "Clary, we've been over this..."

"You don't have to tell them anything about the wish, just what's been happening to you."

Jace shook his head. "What I tell them won't matter if they start rifling through my memories. I'm sorry, but it's just not an option, Clary."

Before she could press him any further, he changed the subject. "Are you feeling better?"

She looked confused for a moment until she realized he was talking about her dizzy spell. "Yeah, it comes and goes."

Clary clenched her jaw, realizing immediately that she had said the wrong thing.

Jace looked concerned. "You've been having a lot of these 'dizzy spells' lately. Maybe that concussion was worse than the medics thought."

"It's only been a week. I'm sure it'll subside."

"Still, you should probably get checked out when we get back," he insisted.

"I will," she agreed, if only to soothe the concern on his face. But instead, a crease dipped between his brows.

"That's weird.."

"What?"

He lifted the hand he was holding, running his thumb across her skin as he inspected it. "Your rune..." He told her, perplexed. "It's set already."

She lowered her gaze to the fresh rune at her wrist and realized immediately what he was talking about.

When adding a new rune, activating an iratze to heal the area faster runs the risk of weakening its performance, so it's best to allow it to heal the mundane way which usually takes a couple of days at the most. However, Clary's angelic rune was no longer red and raised as it had been a few hours ago. Now, it had completely set.

She hadn't even noticed.

"Huh," she frowned. "That _is_ weird..."

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X.X.X

 **Please remember to vote and comment!**

 **-Flora-Fleur :)**


	6. A Brother's Intuition

**A/N: Hi guys, I know I've been M.I.A for a while but I've just been so busy. However, now that we're all in global Quarantine, I finally have time on my hands to carry on with this story.**

 **On a serious note, I hope you're all staying safe and healthy. And of course, following the rules!**

 **Remember, we're all in this together.**

 **Please leave a review if you're enjoying this garbage. It'll be the highlight of my unproductive day. If you're feeling really generous today then please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Even if it's a short comment I will so appreciate it.**

 **—florafleur**

* * *

 **.**

 **Heir Of Angels**

~.~

Chapter Six: A Brother's Intuition

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X.X.X.X

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* * *

Alec watched his Parabatai intently over the sugared rim of his glass, his eyes filled with scrutiny as he sipped his fruit punch.

He worried about Jace. Though the explanation he had given to him was not wholly unbelievable, Clary _did_ have superior abilities—he'd seen her conjure up intricate runes with his own two eyes. But bringing the deceased back was too much of a stretch. Even the most powerful Warlocks had tried and failed to achieve that. Moreover, the outside pieces of the puzzle were complete. After Clary took out Valentine, Raziel's wish had fallen into her hands. And with Jace lying dead, it didn't take a genius to know that she would seize any opportunity to bring him back—Hell, Alec couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same thing.

Either Jace was telling the truth, or he was covering for Clary. Alec presumed it to be the latter. After all, it wouldn't only be Clary who could get sent to the Gard. But himself and Jace included. So, as much as he wanted to, Alec couldn't afford to press him for the truth. He had no choice but to turn a blind eye and hope that he was wrong, for the sake of them all.

But there was something else going on under the surface too. After that weird encounter in the library, when Jace had looked just about ready to attack him, Alec was sure there was even more to what had gone on at the lake, and the fact that Alec couldn't pry it out of him was excruciating.

His eyes were watchful upon Jace and Clary as they talked to each other, their expressions serious, lacking that usual softness they had for one another.

"Alexander."

Alec's eyes shifted. Jia Penhallow, the newly appointed Consul following Malachi Dieudonné's betrayal, carried with her the same air of conviction and authority that used to unnerve him as a kid. The Clave had chosen wisely, other than Imogen Herondale Alec couldn't think of a person more suited for the role of Consul than Jia.

"Consul," he smiled, nodding courteously. "It's great to see you again."

 _Aline more so._

"Likewise," Jia smiled. "I've been meaning to tell you in person how impressed I was with the efficiency of your institute when it came to Jonathan Morgenstern."

"Thank you—"

"It's just such a shame how that monster was right under your nose and nobody so much as batted an eye." Jia sighed. "To my nephew's detriment."

He should have anticipated a bitter filling to that compliment. Nonetheless, Alec's eyes were sympathetic. Sebastian had been the most unfortunate victim of Jonathan. At least the majority, if not all, had been given that small mercy of a quick end, but Sebastian had been held captive for months and who knows what else he'd endured. He figured Jonathan must have been questioning him for information on every aspect of his life in order to maintain his act. After all, not even Aline had smelled a rat.

But Alec didn't bother to argue. He wracked his brains for something to say when the Consul spoke up again.

"I wanted to offer you something," she told him. "What with a shameful number of members defecting to Valentine's Circle, I now have a lot of positions to fill. So, what would you say to being a delegate on behalf of our ranks?"

Alec's lips parted in surprise.

"You don't have to give me an answer right away. I realize that the middle of a gathering isn't the right place to discuss this," Jia told him. "But think it over, and send your answer in a fire message within the next week. I hope the answer is yes. I think you'd make an excellent asset to our board."

Three years ago, he would have grabbed this opportunity with both hands. But that was before Magnus Bane had come into his life in an explosion of glitter, charm, and cats—lots of cats. Taking this job meant moving to Idris, where Warlocks were forbidden. He wasn't sure if it could work.

"Hey, Alec," Max called out, pulling him from his thoughts. He approached him with an irritated look on his face. "Can we go for a walk? Mom confiscated my comic book, and I'm tired of having my cheeks pinched."

Alec chuckled, he couldn't exactly blame him. "Sure, we can."

They left the main hall and stepped out into the grounds. It was reasonably sunny for October, though there was a conflicting autumnal chill in the air. He and Max ambled along the neat gravel path that bordered the two checkerboard lawns and the lengthy fountain that partitioned them.

"Do you know what Jace's deal is?" Asked Max.

"I didn't know he had one." Alec fibbed.

"Did you see the way he was talking to Clary? He looked like he was mad."

Alec shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn't just been scrutinizing the couple after making the same observation. "They must have gotten into an argument."

"Over what?" Max wondered, kicking at a stone. "They're usually having eye-sex all the time. So whatever it is, it must be serious."

 _Too right._

"I'm sure they'll work it out," Alec told him. "Anyway, I'm not interested in their relationship issues. I want to hear about you." He bumped his brother's shoulder, playfully. "How are you getting on at the Academy?"

"Badly."

Alec's eyebrows knitted together. "Oh?"

Max sighed. "Mom's being really overbearing. She told them not to 'over-exert' me until further notice. So I'm not allowed to train."

"She did?" said Alec. "Well, I'm sure she has a good reason, you know how much she encourages regular training."

"Well, now she's doing the opposite. I'm _fine_. I've been desperate to train for weeks, but she won't listen to anything I say. I hoped you might be able to talk her round since your her favorite."

"I'm not her fav—" Alec cut himself off and gave a heavy sigh. "Max, if Mom says—"

"I knew you'd take her side," he complained. "I bet Jace would agree to talk to her. I was going to ask him, but he's in that weird mood."

"I'm not taking anyone's side, I just think—"

"By the _angel_ ," he groaned. "I'm thirteen years old now, I'm not a baby anymore. And I'm tired of being treated like one."

"Mom is just worried about you, that's all. I don't think you realize how distraught she was when she saw you lying unconscious in the infirmary."

"I know, but I'm not sick anymore, am I?" he argued. "Please, Alec...could you just speak to her for me?"

Alec sighed, faltered a moment, then nodded. "Fine, I'll try my best."

"Thanks," said Max, cheering up a little. He looked out across the lawn, sheltering his eyes against the sun. Then, he got a mischievous glimmer in his eye. "Why don't we spar right here? Mom doesn't have to know."

Alec looked reluctant. "I can't go against her authority."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot you're a chicken."

"No, I'd just prefer to keep all my limbs intact." He shot back, irritated by his new attitude.

Alec's phone buzzed against his thigh, cutting their conversation short. His face fell when he read the alert from Lindsay, the Deputy.

"What is it?" asked Max with intrigue.

"I've got to get back to the institute."

Max's face fell in disappointment. "But I thought you guys were staying for the rest of the weekend?"

"I'm sorry, but it's urgent," said Alec, he turned toward the hall and set off at a quick pace with Max matching his speed. "I'll come visit next weekend though, and we'll go to Sylvester's for ice cream?"

"But what about, mom? Are you still gonna ask her to lay off?"

"Well, I won't use _those_ exact words. But I'll talk to her as soon as I get the chance."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

As they ran, Max looked up at his brother with curiosity. "What color is the code?"

"Black," replied Alec, gravely. "There's a rogue Greater Demon on the loose."

.

* * *

.

"His name is Casey Roland," Announced Luke, tapping the thin, transparent monitor to display the case file. It consisted of grainy CCTV footage of a man standing in the foyer of a large building, along with written details of his attack. "A twenty-eight-year-old student at CLS. According to witnesses, he tumbled down the steps and began convulsing, they claimed they couldn't bring themselves go anywhere near him until it was too late." Luke tapped on the CCTV video, and it filled the screen. "Here you'll see why."

The footage flickered and glitched, an effect caused by the strong demonic energy. But they could make out the enormous dragon-like creature perched on Casey's chest, his mouth agape and eyes rolling as the demon breathed its own life force into him.

His fellow students were fixed to where they were stood at the top of the steps, also under the influence of its demonic magic.

" _By the angel_ ," Isabelle whispered to herself.

After a while, the demon took flight. Casey laid still for a moment, then, to everyone's amazement, he got to his feet, and began to walk away, shoving away the students who came rushing to his aid with an unnatural strength.

"What kind of demon is that?" Jace frowned, equally perplexed.

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Luke. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Alec regarded Lindsay. "And you're sure nothing showed up on the aerial sensors?"

Lindsay nodded, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "There was nothing. It's still out there somewhere."

A troubled look danced across Alec's features and there was an unspoken understanding among the gathering of Shadowhunters—they were dealing with a greater demon, and one able to cloak itself with demonic magic at that.

"Lindsay, could you get a tracking squad together, please?" Alec asked, seriously.

"On it," she affirmed.

"I'll go," Isabelle volunteered.

"Yeah, me too." Jace chimed in.

"Add me to that list." Said Clary. Isabelle shot her a disapproving look.

"All right, let's gear up," Alec commanded. He nodded at Luke. "Thanks for the info, Luke."

"No problem."

As they dispersed. Isabelle grabbed Clary's arm and pulled her into an alcove before she could disappear. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To gear up." Clary replied, cooly.

She gave her a meaningful look. "I don't think you should be going on missions until you've seen a medic."

"I'll be careful, Iz," she assured her, turning to leave.

Isabelle stood in her way, shaking her head sternly. "Things could get dangerous really fast. This is a greater demon we're dealing with. Besides, you need to take some time off anyway. You've been working yourself to the bone lately."

"Yeah, and it's the only thing that's been keeping my mind of... _you know_."

Isabelle's eyebrows bumped together. "How long have you been working knowing you're pregnant?"

Clary sighed, lowering her gaze. "Maybe a week."

"By the angel," Isabelle replied. "Well, there's no way I'm letting you go on _this_ mission."

"Izzy–"

"Look, I understand that you don't want anyone to know. But will you at least get checked over by one of the medics?"

"Medics?" Came a concerned voice. They hadn't seen Luke's approach. He appeared from behind the alcove, looking at Clary with concern. "Is everything okay, kiddo?"

Clary suppressed her panic. "I'm fine, I just have a...stiff shoulder," she explained, placing her hand on the joint. "I think I might've strained a muscle or something." Clary smiled stiffly at Isabelle. "You're right Izzy, I'll see a medic as soon as this mission is completed."

"You're not going on the mission. You're—" Isabelle caught herself in Clary's warning gaze. "...in no condition for such a dangerous task. Tell her Luke."

Luke glanced at his watch. "I've uh, got to get back to work. But I agree with Isabelle, you shouldn't take risks with Greater demons if you're not up to par."

"Ha, see!?"

"You rest up kiddo, I hope your shoulder feels better soon," Luke told her warmly, before turning away and heading down the corridor, the radio at his hip beeping and crackling.

Isabelle smiled triumphantly. Clary just rolled her eyes, not wanting to admit that she was right.

"All right, separate yourselves into six teams!" Alec exclaimed, his voice silencing the accumulating crowd of armed and ready Shadowhunters. "I want four in each one. The attack took place on the east side, but we need to cover the west side and midtown, just to be safe. Izzy, Clary, this isn't a mother's meeting. Gear up."

"You know, I'm actually gonna sit this one out if that's okay," Clary relented, sending a brief, irritated glare in Isabelle's direction.

Jace re-appeared and came to stand by Clary's side, this time equipped with his weapons belt. Catching the tail end of the conversation, concern drifted across his face. Alec stared in hard-faced scrutiny, then nodded, turning away to give further instruction to the tracking teams. Isabelle followed suit, veering off to prepare.

"What changed your mind?" Jace asked Clary, he set a hand on the small of her back. "Hey, you're not feeling lightheaded again, are you?"

Knowing he would never believe the 'stiff shoulder' lie she'd told Luke. Clary gave a nod, confirming his question. "Don't worry, I'm gonna head to the infirmary."

The concern in his eyes increased. "How can I _not_ worry?" he told her, softly. "You'll let me know what they say?"

"Of course." She told him. _Another lie. "_ Stay safe out there, and _no_ show-boating, we don't know what we're dealing with yet."

His mouth fell open, feigning offense. "When do I ever show-boat?"

She arched an eyebrow.

He relented, smiling his impish smile. "Okay, fine, I'll reserve my boat for _you_."

She laughed then leaned up to peck him on the lips. "Good luck with the mission, you idiot."

With a final, departing smile, Jace squeezed her hand before joining the flow of the squad as they filed out into the city.

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* * *

.

 _"Where the hell is it?"_

As he stood in front of the mirror for perhaps the twentieth time, Simon brushed his fingers across his forehead, searching for the mark that logically, should have been left behind by that damn brand. He had been trying to forget it ever happened. After all, whatever the Seelies had done wasn't causing any problems, if he didn't count the way it was niggling at him like a stone in his shoe.

"Where is what?"

Simon whirled around, surprised to see Maia peering around the sliding door of the boathouse.

"Oh, nothing," he dismissed, as she entered his makeshift home. "I thought I saw a rat."

Maia narrowed her eyes, totally unconvinced. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

Simon gave her a guilty, lopsided smile. "I know."

"Out with it then," she sighed, dropping herself on his couch. Simon joined her, resting his elbow on the top of the couch.

"Okay, so don't be mad," he began, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sentences that begin with 'don't be mad'," Maia used air quotes. "Have a reputation for making me mad, but go on."

He continued reluctantly. "I went back to the Seelie Realm a couple weeks ago and–"

"You went back to the _Seelie Realm?_ Are you insane?!"

 _"_ I didn't really have a choice. I made a deal with the Queen when she had you kidnapped. That I'd go back if she let you go, that was the catch. But I knew if I told you where I was going, you wouldn't let me, so...I lied," he explained, timidly. "Anyway, it's about to get worse." Maia's expression softened to one of concern. "They sort of tied me up with vines and, well, branded me a little bit."

" _What?"_ Maia balked, a hint of that wolffish anger flashing in her eyes.

"Considering the pain it caused I expected a nasty burn on my head. But there's nothing. I don't know what she did or why. She wouldn't tell me."

She reached forward and ghosted her fingertips across his forehead. "That psycho, botanic bitch!"

"You're not gonna find it. I've looked a hundred times." He sighed, watching her as she searched his face.

Maia met his gaze. "We've gotta find out what she did."

"It's not causing any issues."

"Yeah, not _yet_."

"Maybe she just did it to get my Daylighter blood for some weird faerie potion." He told her. "Can we please just forget about it now? I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

A smile irked at her lips. "Fine, but if it does start causing problems. And I have a feeling it will—this is the Seelie Queen we're talking about, don't you dare hide it from me. If you do I'll wolf out on you."

Simon chuckled. "Hmm, well we wouldn't want that, would we?" He leaned forward and captured her lips. 

.

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 **.**

 **Remember to review :)**


	7. A Picture of What's to Come

**.**

 **Heir Of Angels**

~.~

Chapter Seven: A Picture of What's to Come

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X.X.X.X

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* * *

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The New York Institute's infirmary was a picture of technological modernity, not unlike its first floor with its high-end monitors and holographic work tables. The department was a deep blue throughout, accented here and there by silver witchlight that mimicked the bright, sterile glow found in mundane hospitals.

The Field Medics held just as much importance as the front-line Shadowhunters, if not more. Though angel-blood ran through their veins, Shadowhunters were not invincible. Serious organ damage was an injury that, unfortunately, iratzes could not heal, something which Clary knew all too well. They bought extra time and slowed any bleeding, but they couldn't do anything for maladies such as poison or acute organ failure.

That was where the medics came in.

There was an infirmary in every institute, and all were equipped with highly trained, hard-working medics. Every day they treated varieties of iratze-immune battle injuries, such as demon poisoning, shrapnel injuries, or organ damage. Although the latter would usually be transferred to the more equipped hospital in Idris or another Shadow Realm where they had ORs and intensive care units.

Clary approached the frosted glass entrance and pressed her thumb to the sensor that would authorize her as a member of the institute. With a confirming beep, and the doors slid open.

The waiting room, which was just one of many areas of the infirmary was quiet for this time of day, but it would get busier as the working day went on.

Standing behind the desk was a woman in a white jacket and a blonde rope braid running elegantly along the length of her back. Her name was Ingrid— she was the medic who'd treated Clary's concussion. She finished locking away some boxes of gauze, then smiled warmly at her.

"Clary," she greeted, in her soft Scandinavian accent. "How can I help? Is your head still hurting?"

"Hey, Ingrid. No, my head is fine. I uh, I'd like to talk to someone about...another thing." She inquired awkwardly.

"Sure," she replied. "Healer Dupree is busy removing Spiculo spines from someone's face, and Healer Anders is treating some nasty Elapid burns but I'm not busy. Come on through," Ingrid prompted, leaving the desk and gesturing to one of the nearby consultation rooms.

Clary placed herself timidly on the round, cushioned chair while Ingrid sat adjacent to her.

"I know that you guys mostly deal with battle injuries. But I figured you'd know the basics and what I can and can't do in the uh...situation I'm in." Began Clary, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ingrid didn't miss a beat. A look of acknowledgment softened her piercing blue eyes. "How far along are you?"

"How did you–?"

Ingrid gave an airy laugh. "Well, you're in a 'situation' it's not a battle injury, and at this point, you've pretty much beaten all the leaves off the bush."

Clary sighed. "I'm about six weeks."

Ingrid stood up and retrieved something from a set of medical drawers. "Sleeve up please, I need to check your blood pressure."

Clary rolled up the sleeve of her shirt, allowing the Medic to wrap the cuff around her bicep. "Have you been eating and drinking enough?" She asked, pumping the bulb.

Clary nodded. "What I can keep down. I almost didn't make it to my own rune ceremony this morning."

"Right, I heard it was today. Congratulations on officially joining the ranks by the way," she told her. "I um, _would_ say it twice, but I don't know how you feel about it yet."

"Yeah, me neither."

Ingrid frowned at final reading. "Hmm, I'm not loving your blood pressure," she told her, the velcro chaffing as she removed the cuff. "It's a little elevated."

Clary shouldn't have been surprised, the relentless chaos she'd been embroiled in recently was bound to amp up anyone's blood pressure. Except it wasn't herself that she was concerned about. Despite the trouble it was causing–the intense anxiety, sickness, and lethargy, an unexpected pang of anxiety surged through her at the thought that it could be harmed.

"You'll need to let the head know as soon as possible so he can allow more flexibility to your work schedule, just in case you need to take a breather." Advised Ingrid.

Clary shook her head, nervously running her hands across the tops of her thighs. "I can't do that just yet."

"Why's that?

A brief look of guilt drifted across her face. She dropped her gaze "I haven't even told Jace."

Ingrid raised a white-blonde eyebrow. "I see, are you thinking of not going through with the pregnancy?"

She couldn't say it hadn't been a thought to cross her mind. She was not even on the cusp of being ready for this. But the doubt in her mind had been seen off by that surge of sudden protectiveness.

Clary shook her head decisively. "I'm going through with it."

"In that case, I guess I _can_ say congratulations," Ingrid smiled. She took out something else out from a nearby drawer, a pen-like device with a fine needle on the end. "This is a blood sugar test. It might sting a little." Ingrid warned as she situated the needle against her fingertip, though Clary's expression remained neutral when it pierced her skin.

The device emitted a shrill beep and she looked satisfied enough for Clary to assume the result was normal.

"Perfect sugars," Ingrid confirmed, handing her a cotton pad to wipe away the excess blood.

"You uh, mentioned a flexible work schedule, I take it that means I can still go on missions?"

The hunt had become equal to breathing. So much so that her days as a mundane seemed to have taken place in another lifetime. Clary wasn't sure how she ever coped living without runes, and the convenience of their angelic effects.

"It depends on the nature of the mission. But sure, I was given the green light for missions when I was expecting my son. The idea that pregnant women are fragile is actually a steaming pile of BS, especially when it comes to us Nephilim. Strength and resilience are in our blood, we're born warriors," explained Ingrid, with a touch of pride. "And a child of yours...well, everyone in the Shadow World knows about the extraordinary gifts you and Jace Herondale share. I can only begin to imagine the strength of _little_ _Herondale."_

A tentative smile tugged at Clary's lips. She hadn't considered that. Her own pure angel blood gifted her the ability to visualize and create undiscovered runes, as well as conjure portals. In Jace's case, it was enhanced strength, speed, and stamina. She saw it often when they were on assignment together, the precision in each swing of his seraph blade. In the pin-sharp awareness that let him take on six Mantid demons at once, and in his ethereal eyes, igniting gold as he channeled his strength.

She saw it when they'd used their connection to track down Jonathan. It had engulfed them, a magnetic forcefield of sizzling angelic energy. Time seemed to slow as the pull grew stronger, denser, and their runes blazed to life against their skin. Somehow, it'd felt more intimate than a kiss, more absorbing than a deep conversation. It was as if their very souls had knitted together and words had lost all meaning, giving way to a new kind of language that only they understood.

Their gifts had been acquired as a direct result of the experiments Valentine carried out on both Clary and Jace's expecting mothers. But would a child born to two pure-blooded parents be any more powerful? Could it work that way?

Ingrid brought Clary from her thoughts.

"On that note, it doesn't mean you shouldn't be cautious. Don't over-exert yourself. If you feel up to going on mission then only take on lesser demons. Avoid venomous and Greater Demons. You can still train, but sparring is not recommended." she advised. "You'll also need further prenatal exams. I'll make you an appointment with Doctor Loss for another six weeks' time. She does her rounds on Thursdays and Fridays, and she's experienced in obstetrics. You've met Catarina, right?"

Clary nodded. "Once or twice. She's a friend of Magnus Bane."

Then, it sprang to mind what Isabelle had said back in Idris, that she didn't think it would take long before she started to show. Anxiety seeped through once again and her mouth went dry. "How long do you think it'll be before it starts to become obvious?"

"It differs from woman to woman. Which is why you should let Jace know as soon as you can, that way he won't get too much of a shock," she replied. "But in the meantime, you need to focus on bringing that blood pressure down. You should take a nice bubble bath, or drink a cup of ginger tea, it works wonders for nausea."

Though ginger tea wasn't served in the dining hall, Clary grabbed herself a cup of hot cocoa from the dispenser and filled it with the most whipped cream and marshmallows that the lid would allow. Soon she was winding down on her window seat, her sketchbook, which was her go-to method of relaxation, propped up against her thighs. She sharpened a pencil and tried to distract herself from worrying about her friends who were out in the city on their blind tracking mission.

Initially, Clary meant to start a new drawing but instead found herself making amendments to an existing one—one she'd sketched of Jace as he'd dozed on her bed one afternoon.

When she withdrew her pencil, she stared at the page for the longest time. Emotion swelling in her chest—now, he wasn't alone in the drawing. She had given him company in the form of a tiny bundle curled up on his chest.

Chewing absently on the end of her pencil—a bad habit that used to drive Jocelyn nuts, Clary fell into contemplation.

The wish was a secret she could keep to herself.

This wasn't.

Jace deserved to know.

.

* * *

.

Jace jumped down from the rooftop, landing steadily on the soles of his sturdy boots. "Any updates from the others?"

They'd searched their side of the city for hours. Checking every potential burrow, alleyway, drain, and garbage bin. He'd surveyed from above for an alternative view, but it made no difference, the seraph blade at his hip sat dormant in its scabbard and the sky had begun to darken. Without any means of locating the demon, it was like searching for a needle in a hey-stack. Their hope of finding Casey was quickly diminishing too—it seemed likely that he too was being concealed by the same cloaking magic as his possessor.

Alec shook his head. "A couple of Iblis and a Shax. Nothing like the one that possessed Casey Roland."

Isabelle sighed in dismay, she looked tired. "This is making me more and more uneasy. We have _got_ to find him, who knows what he's capable of."

"You know," piped up Raj Ali, pushing himself off a nearby graffitied wall. His expression was full of a cockiness that made Jace grapple with the urge to smack it off his face. "If Herondale was focused more on the hunt, instead of his unnecessary dive rolls, we might have found this guy by now."

 _By the angel, who put a quarter in the moron?_

If he had to rate Ali from one to Simon on the scale of obnoxiousness, it would be an impossible task. The guy amounted to ten Simons—ten Simons all speaking over each other about some stupid Japanese cartoon. He was the most insufferable Shadowhunter in the entire Institute. Always kissing up to authority and shoving his unwanted opinions down everybody's throats. Alec had insisted they put him on their team as a quick stand-in for Clary–though massive downgrade seemed like a more appropriate word.

Jace gave a brittle laugh. "Someone didn't pay enough attention in strategy class. What, were you too busy trying to kiss your own ass?" Jace asked him, stiffly. He gestured to the row of buildings in front of them. "Those rooftops aren't evenly spaced. Dive rolling is the safest way to get across them, even with my agility rune. But by all means, you are welcome to take my place. You'll soon realize the point of my tactics when you dash your head open like an egg."

Raj narrowed his eyes challengingly. "Then let's put it to the test–"

"Shut up!" Isabelle slapped Raj's arm, looking up. "Look at this."

Overhead, a copious flock of startled pigeons had taken flight, speckling the sky in a cacophony of flapping wings.

Alec had shared his sister's observation and shot her an unnerved look. "Let's move." He told them, freeing his bow from the sling at his back. They tore off at a run along the sidewalk, zig-zagging expertly around the oblivious mundanes. Isabelle, Jace, and Raj hurriedly following. Jace caught a faint shriek in the distance and only had to strain to hear for a split second before his audible rune took over automatically, flaring hot against his skin.

"Wait, Alec!" He called out as he veered off around a corner. "It's this way."

Alec's head snapped around, and trusting his Parabatai's judgment, he and the others followed. Jace's ears lead them all the way to Seventh Avenue in Time's Square. By which time, the commotion could be heard _and_ seen.

An influx of fleeing mundanes came at them, swallowing their group like a tidal wave.

The reason quickly became apparent.

There was no time to freeze in horror at the carnage. For a second, Jace thought they'd gotten themselves caught up in some kind of Mundane terrorist attack. But that assumption was shattered quicker than he'd made it when he saw how the infamous LED billboards surrounding the plaza were glitching.

A cold shiver rushed down his spine at the very moment the Adamas in his seraph blade begin to thrum against his thigh.

Jace withdrew his weapon, his eyes snapping back and forth, trying to analyze the situation as he bumped like a pinball into the panicked civilians.

Inwardly, he willed his audible rune to de-activate, and the deafening noise pounding his eardrums dissipated, allowing him to think more clearly. He hadn't heard any demonic vocalizations, nor did he see any sign of the large dragon-like creature that'd possessed the Lawyer.

All at once, a heavy hand reached out and wrenched back a wide-eyed, screaming woman by her hair. It happened so fast that Jace had no time to intervene. The hand sliced a clean slit across her throat in one swift motion.

Then, the attacker released his grip on the woman's hair and with a sickening crack, she hit the asphalt, revealing her murderer; his gaze cut right through him, penetrative as knives.

Jace had found their lawyer.

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 **-florafleur**


	8. Blood in the Water

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 **Heir Of Angels**

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Chapter Eight: Blood in the Water

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X.X.X.X

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Once they set their sights on the Shadowhunters, the surrounding mundanes were thrown aside by an unseen, backbreaking force. The fire hydrants lining the street exploded, sending jets of water shooting through the air and bringing slabs of concrete with it.

Alec dodged one.

Then, a horrified exclamation cut through the screaming.

 _"They have Onyx!_ "

Alec didn't have time to nock an arrow before a dagger was thrown, one that he immediately recognized. It was only when Isabelle screamed for him to move that his frozen muscles jolted into action, and he ducked, feeling the velocity behind the throw as the weapon hurtled over his head.

He'd read about Onyx in the codex, as everyone did when they started their training. But he'd never seen it firsthand. Only the most powerful greater demons could forge a weapon made of the corrupted Adamas, those strong enough to overpower angelic energy. Once forged, it was as deadly to a Shadowhunter as Adamas was to a demon, poisoning angelic blood the moment it pierced the skin.

Alec shivered, taken so off guard by the deadly weapon and its implications that he'd almost, _almost,_ fallen victim to it.

He straightened and let his arrow punch through his attacker's throat. But hardly a second later, he tore it slowly free with a drawn-out growl that sounded like gargling nails. The setback allowed Alec just enough time to re-activate his stamina rune before he delivered a second arrow, this time straight into the heart.

He dropped dead instantly.

"Aim for their hearts. They can recover!" Alec warned the others, barely finishing his sentence before Jace's voice called out sharply.

"Alec, behind you!"

Alec whirled around and reflexively kicked out, booting the rabid woman hard in the chest just before she swiped. The Onyx missed his throat by mere inches. He took swift aim, barely able to match the speed of the woman who got quickly recovered, tearing straight back toward him. When his arrow hit, she was flung backward by the halt of her own momentum and was sent crashing through the window of a Café.

He was breaking a sweat now as his eyes flitted from Raj, who was wrenching his staff free from an attacker's chest cavity, to Isabelle, who impaled two of them with each end of her own staff, then to Jace who sent one's hand flying, the dagger going with it. Then, for the first time, Alec witnessed the lethality of Onyx.

There was a splash, and Ben Greenlaw was dead seconds before Alec turned his eyes on him, perhaps before he'd even hit the ground. His brother Will reacted with anguished fury, ramming his seraph blade through the killer's spine, and twisting. He didn't bother to retrieve it, he just fell beside his brother and sobbed, leaving himself completely open to attack.

Clearly he didn't care.

It felt like an eternity before back-up arrived, with the rest of the tracking squad not far behind, but finally they felt the exertion grow lighter on their shoulders.

Along the street, the song of swinging seraph blades, the slosh of water against heavy boots, and the corrupt shrieks of the possessed mundanes resonated. When it was finally over, and the last of the possessed fell, a throwing spear sticking out from his chest, it felt as if the whole thing had gone on for hours when it couldn't possibly have been more than a few minutes.

The devastation left behind was far more substantial than the time it had taken to cause it.

Bodies were scattered everywhere in a sickening river of blood, some still twitching, and Alec's ears rang with the blaring car alarms and the gushing fire-hydrants. His chest heaved and his eyes surveyed the carnage. Through the mist of the spraying water, he caught sight of a female body, one marked with runes, and his efforts to remain calm went out the window.

" _Isabelle?!_ " He called out loudly, whipping his head around in every direction his neck would allow. "Izzy!"

 _By the angel, this had to be a nightmare._

Then _._

"I'm here!" Came a breathless shout that barely cut through the noise. "Where's Jace?" Isabelle limped over, her boot in one hand, and her whip—in staff form—resting against her shoulder.

" _Jace!?_ "

"Over here!"

The Lightwoods shifted their gaze toward the sound to see their brother coming their way, picking shards of glass from his bicep. Alec's shoulders sagged in relief, and he felt the vice-tight tension in his chest loosen to see both his siblings unharmed.

"That's another one of my jackets ruined," Jace complained. Though his tone was calm, his body was trembling.

Raj Ali, who was sitting with his back pressed up against a mailbox, glowered at him, clearly furious with Jace's insensitive comment. They were looking at the aftermath of a massacre and he was worried about a jacket? Raj tried to bark a reprimand at him, but his broken jaw painfully protested.

"They got Rose Highsmith," Isabelle told them, still haunted by the image. "She didn't even make a sound. She just...fell."

Alec looked toward the spot where Ben laid, his blood washing away with the flow of the water. "Ben Greenlaw, too."

Isabelle's tears finally escaped. She didn't know which sight was worse, the gaping slit across his neck or the bag of hydrangea seeds that had fallen out of his pocket to soak in the bloodied water. Ben Greenlaw, the Institute's top Gardener, was practically married to his damn hydrangeas. It made sense that he would die with them too.

 _"Ave, Atque, Vale,"_ Isabelle whispered as she watched the small current sweep the seeds down into a drain.

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Awakened by a commotion outside of her bedroom window, Clary sat bolt upright, and when her bearings came back to her, the events of the day were not far behind. She couldn't get up fast enough, scattering her tin of pencils across the mattress and cursing herself for sleeping so long.

She braced her hands flat against the ledge of the window, blinking away the stars that swam across her vision after standing up too fast. The tracking squad had returned, and they were in a shocking state. Most were covered in blood, some were limping, and others were assisting the Medics, carrying unconscious soldiers on stretchers. Clary whirled away from the window and hurried to the first floor. She ran past the ops department, and through the doors of the main entrance, her heart in overdrive as her eyes swept across the line of portals, searching the bedraggled troops for her friends.

Finally, Isabelle materialized. Followed closely by Alec, and then Jace, allowing her to release the breath she didn't know she was holding.

She darted over.

"What happened?!"

Isabelle's eyes snapped to hers, glazed with a horror that struck Clary with dread. "It possessed a hell of a lot more people than we thought," she explained. "They were carrying Onyx daggers."

"Onyx," she breathed, and the word felt like razor blades on her tongue. She looked toward the back entrance to the infirmary and felt her throat constrict at the sight of Will Greenlaw struggling to let go of his brother's hand. "Ben..." she whispered.

The Greenlaw twins were identical but their personalities couldn't be more different. Will was extroverted, he made friends with anyone and everyone, Clary included. He liked to belt out songs as he went about his business and his voice was so uplifting that not many people complained. He also taught weekend classes to the juniors, who idolized the guy massively.

Ben on the other hand was the more reserved brother, he went beet-red when his brother broke into song in his presence, or if he drew any kind of unwanted attention for that matter. Ben much preferred peace and quiet and the company of his plants than anything else. It was Ben who made the Institute's gardens look so beautiful. He took care of all the gardening and the maintenance of the greenhouse.

"How many others?" Asked Clary, finally averting her glassy eyes.

"Rose Highsmith and Eloise Bridgestock, as far as I'm aware," Jace told her gravely. "I couldn't count how many mundanes were slaughtered."

Clary squeezed her eyes shut in anguish, and Alec excused himself, his face pale. "I better go and alert Clave."

"I'll give mom a call and let her know we're okay." Said Isabelle. She smiled feebly at Jace and Clary then followed Alec inside.

Rose Highsmith was from England originally, but she had come to New York on bad terms with her family, who still held prejudices against Downworlders.

"When my grandmother found out I was seeing a Werewolf, she locked me in the wine cellar," Rose had told her once with surprising amusement. "But I escaped and took six bottles of her finest with me. I'm not sure which one she's more angry about."

Eloise Bridgestock was the Institute's weapon's advisor. The woman had a database for a brain and could effortlessly categorize weapons by order of size, weight, efficiency, the best ones for specific demon species, certain tactics, or even just for showing off.

All three of these equally brilliant souls had been lost in the space of a few hours.

In the space of Clary's nap.

"I should have been there to fight with you," she told Jace, her tone dripping with regret. "Maybe I could have used my sunlight rune–"

"I'm glad you weren't there. In fact, I thank the angel you weren't there," he cut in, shakily. "This demon, the way it corrupted those people. It's unlike anything we've ever seen before. That alone scared the hell out of me, but when I saw the Onyx my heart was in my mouth. I felt sick with the fear of losing Izzy or Alec. At least I didn't have to worry about losing you, too."

Clary's expression softened and she melted against his chest. The pound of his heart beneath the leather of his jacket was music to her ears. He rested his chin against the top of her head and held her there as the pandemonium whirred around them.

"Was there any sign of the demon?" She asked, after a moment.

"No. But I have a horrible feeling we haven't seen the last of it yet."

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